


black shroud

by beebutts



Series: sleeping at last [3]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beebutts/pseuds/beebutts
Summary: Most nights, Agent 8 wakes up and finds Agent 3 at her bedside, arms already open and a concerned look in her eye.Some nights, though, Agent 8 wakes up and finds Agent 3 beside her, battling her own demons.





	black shroud

**Author's Note:**

> probably the last fic of this series, who knows ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> however, i do have a multi-chapter fic in the works right now! :0
> 
>  **tw for self-harm** (it's not explicitly stated, just a heads up)

Their nights typically go a little something like this:

Agent 8 would wake up in the middle of the night after a nightmare. She’d either jerk upwards and then sit up, or accidentally roll off the bed from the shock. The noise she makes would wake up Agent 3, who usually sleeps beside her and is an incredibly light sleeper. Three would shuffle into a sitting position, let Eight fall into her embrace, and try to slowly lull Eight back to sleep by rocking her, or letting her listen to Three’s heartbeat. Once Agent 8 has fallen asleep, Agent 3 would place them down and curl around Eight, before trying to go back to sleep as well.

It’s a cycle that happens almost every night due to how often Agent 8 receives nightmares. Recently, though, her sleep has been rather dreamless, causing her to wake up less and less frequently. It’s a blessing to both her and Agent 3, though Three will never admit that. She always claims that she’s fine waking up so late at night to help Eight cope with her issues. Still, Agent 8 can see how tired she is sometimes in the morning, especially before her daily dose of caffeine.

However, there have been times where Agent 8 wakes up for no particular reason, with this occurring more and more often. She typically attributes it to something such as eating too much or having tea before going to sleep. But, she has noticed one thing that remains consistent with all her other random awakenings: she always feels _off_. She’s not quite sure how or why, but something always felt like it was out of place. Agent 8 always assumes that it’s because of the fact that there’s usually another person in her bed (namely, Agent 3).

When Agent 8 wakes up in the middle of the night again for no apparent reason, though, she decides that something other than Agent 3’s presence must be the issue. Instead of trying to fall back asleep, she stays incredibly still in her bed, making sure that no movement of hers would wake up the sleeping agent beside her. Barely a moment passes before Eight realizes what most likely woke her up: the bed is shaking ever so slightly. And, after another pause, she realizes that the source of the shaking is coming from the right of her - where Agent 3 is sleeping.

She slowly forces herself to sit up and turn to face Agent 3. Although it’s sort of dim in Agent 3’s room (she hasn’t finished setting up the night lights in her room), Agent 8 is able to make out Three’s form. The inkling’s currently twitching violently in her sleep, with her eyes screwed shut. Barely a second passes before her twitching begins to look more as if she’s convulsing in her sleep, with tiny tremors wracking her body if she ever stills for a moment.

 _She’s having a nightmare_ , Agent 8 realizes. Instantly, her hands are drawn out from under the blanket, about to grab Agent 3 and slowly shake her awake. However, instead of doing so, they hover above Three’s shoulders, barely an inch away from touching her skin. Eight’s hesitant on waking her up, especially with what happened last time she woke up Three.

Agent 8 shudders slightly at the memory of Agent 3’s glare, and the loaded Hero Shot that had been hanging on her hip.

Still, Eight feels bad leaving Three in the realm of her nightmare. She looks so troubled, with how her face is starting to contort slightly ( _From fear or pain?_ wonders Eight) and how she’s beginning to curl up into a ball. Tentatively, Agent 8 places one hand on Agent 3’s shoulder. She hopes that the slow, gentle touch would not scare Three awake, while also being enough to comfort her for the time being.

Unfortunately, she doesn’t get what she’d hoped for. Agent 3 jerks awake suddenly and throws herself upwards, eyes shooting open. Eight just barely moves back in time so that Three’s forehead doesn’t collide with her own. Agent 8 watches Agent 3 as her hands fly to grip her shoulders tightly, her breaths coming out in deep, quick pants, before her right hand slides up to cup the burn scar that covers a good portion of the right side of her face. She trembles slightly, her breathing still short and rapid.

(Eight doesn’t remember ever seeing Three look so _weak_ and _afraid_ before.)

Soon, Three’s head turns towards Eight. It causes her to finally notice the octoling’s presence, whose hands are outstretched in her direction. Immediately, Three pushes herself backwards, hitting her back against the wall that’s behind her and knocking the wind out of her momentarily. It leads Eight to quickly withdraw her hands until they’re behind her back, gripping at the blanket nervously.

She watches as Agent 3 tilts her head downwards and utters a curse that Eight doesn’t quite catch. Three’s hands - which now rest beside her legs - curl in on themselves, with her nails digging into her skin with an alarming amount of force. Agent 8 wants to grab Three’s hands and hold them in her own, but Three’s almost cold and bitter voice cuts through the room: “Why are you awake.”

It sounds more like a statement than a question, but Eight responds regardless. “You were…” She pauses, feeling as if she shouldn’t remind Three about her distressed state from before, but knows that she has to address it one way or another. “...Nightmare?”

The sharp flinch from Agent 3 almost makes Agent 8 flinch in response as well, but she manages to control herself so that all she does is tightly squeeze the part of the blanket she still holds on to. She watches as Three brings her hands up to rub her face, but pulls them away to stare at them a few moments later. Eight doesn’t quite understand why until she sees a small line of green appearing on the side of Three’s hand, and the smudges of ink on Three’s forehead.

“Can I see?” Agent 8 asks, already starting to crawl forward. Agent 3 doesn’t do anything except lower her hands in response. Eight takes that gesture and Three’s silence as a yes. Agent 8 stops moving forward and kneels in front of Three. She then carefully takes the other’s hands in her own and examines them carefully.

It’s nothing extreme - just half-moon indents from Agent 3’s nails, with a few cuts from where the claws dug in just a little too harshly. They look like they’ll probably scab over by the morning, and heal by the next day. Despite this, Agent 8 knows better than to leave any sort of wound alone, no matter how minor it may look. She knows from personal experience that infection can strike from anywhere, including from the smallest of injuries.

“Stay right there,” Eight murmurs softly, resting Three’s hands on her knees, and shuffles off the bed. She faintly hears Agent 3 mumble under her breath - “Where else would I go...I just want to fucking sleep for once…” - but ignores the snarky remark. Instead, she heads towards their bathroom and digs around in a drawer in the dark, until her hands bump against the familiar white casing of the first-aid kit. Agent 8 grabs it, along with the baby wipes that sit on the counter, and returns back to Three’s bedroom.

Eight crawls back onto the bed and places the items down to the right of her, on top of her pillow. Three stares at her blankly. “They’re just tiny cuts,” she states, but keeps her hands open regardless of her statement. Agent 8 doesn’t say anything in response.

For the next minute or so, Agent 3 patiently sits in front of Agent 8, who wipes away the ink on her hands and on her face with a few baby wipes. Then, Eight opens the first-aid kit to retrieve a packet of antiseptic wipes. She tears the package open and thrown onto the crumpled baby wipes to the left of her, before unfolding the cloth that had been inside. With a steady hand, she holds Three’s still-shaking left hand and begins to clean the small cuts. Once she’s done, she grabs another antiseptic wipe and moves onto the right hand.

The process is slow and methodical, something that Agent 3 isn’t quite fond of. She’d rather have Agent 8 get this done and over with as fast as possible, simply because of the fact that she likes to get things done quickly. Despite this, she doesn’t say a word while Eight thoroughly cleans her hands; she stays deathly silent, which would irk Agent 8 if it isn’t for the fact that she knows how quiet Three can be sometimes.

Once she’s finished cleaning both of the hands, Agent 8 searches the first-aid kit for the roll of gauze. When she unearths it from beneath the packages of adhesive bandages, she makes a mental note to buy some more when they go out for their weekly grocery shopping. Eight unrolls a long strip of cloth and begins to carefully wrap the palm of Three’s left hand. She starts by wrapping it around her wrist twice before pulling it across diagonally on the back of her hand. Then, with her other hand, she searches for the flat squares of gauze, and finds three. Agent 8 pulls one out, places it gently on top of the tiny cuts, and continues to envelop the rest of Three’s hand in gauze. She proceeds to do the same with Agent 3’s right hand.

By the time she’s finished, both of the agents are starting to grow weary. Despite her heavy eyelids, Agent 8 picks up all the used wipes and the torn wrappers, as well as the now-packed first-aid kit, and heads back to the washroom. Agent 3, on the other hand, sits almost as still as a statue on her bed, staring down at her freshly-bandaged hands with a dull look in her eyes. She doesn’t quite know why (at the moment, anyways), but staring at the gauze that’s been meticulously wrapped around her hands makes her stomach feel weird.

A few minutes pass before Agent 8 returns to the bedroom, free of the garbage and first-aid kit she had earlier, and climbs back into the bed. Agent 3 is still staring at her hands, even though the action makes her feel somewhat nauseous. The silence lasts for, perhaps, five minutes when Three decides to break it.

“Why?” Her voice is raw, as if she’s been crying for a while, but also rather emotionless. Agent 8 looks away for a brief moment, mumbles something in Octarian ( _So clueless_ , Three absentmindedly tries to translate in her head), and then tries to tenderly take Agent 3’s hands into hers. She jerks back at the contact, at first, but allows Eight to hold her hands.

“It’s nice,” the octoling says softly, her gaze still cast downwards. “Having someone take care of you, I mean. It reminds you that someone cares. And...and it makes you feel really nice, and you know you’ll be able to feel like that again. You know you’ll be able to feel better…” She looks up to face Agent 3, who’s still staring at her vacantly. “...You know you’ll have good times ahead.” It’s ridiculously cheesy, but Agent 8  _is_  a poet, after all. She’s supposed to be an incredibly sentimental person. Still, even she has to admit that her words are a little...too corny, maybe?

Agent 3 doesn’t say anything in response. Agent 8 doesn’t really know what to do now, so she opts for an (incredibly) awkward and lopsided smile. The silence persists.

 _Haha, please say something_ , she thinks in her head as her cheeks start to feel sore for smiling for so long.

Agent 3 _still_  doesn’t say anything. However, she does remove her hands from Agent 8’s and bring them up to rub her eyes. Then again. Then once more. Eight doesn’t really understand what she’s doing until, in the feeble light of their room, she sees the sheen on Three’s hand, and the faint sniff she makes a second later.

Eight takes one of Three’s hands in her left one and rubs the back of her palm in a slow, circular motion. Three continues to use her other hand to wipe away any stray tears that fall from her eyes. Soon, however, her efforts become futile. Her tears fall at a steady rate, too fast for one hand to brush them all away. Agent 8 notices and leans forward, trying to wrap her right arm around Three’s shoulder. “Come here,” she coos.

Three allows herself to be hugged and starts to all but weep in silence. She buries her face in the nook of Eight’s neck, shutting her eyes tightly in an attempt to stop the flow of tears (but, again, it’s another fruitless effort). Her body shakes ever so slightly, half from the tears and half from being unable to just stop herself from doing so. Agent 8’s other hand finds its way out of Agent 3’s hand and around her shoulder, while the other slides down to rub circles into Agent 3’s back.

They stay like that for what feels like eternity but is only barely a few minutes long. Agent 8 tries to hold back the oncoming yawn, but is unable to do so. She’s growing more and more exhausted as the time ticks by. Regardless of how she feels, though, she tries to stay awake for as long as she can to comfort Agent 3, just like how she does for her sometimes.

Although Agent 3 hears Agent 8 yawn, her body feels as stiff as a rock; she finds that her limbs are frozen and she cannot move at all. And, as much as she wants to release Eight back into the clutches of sleep, Three just cannot get herself to move at all. It makes her feel sick, that she has to make Eight to do something that she probably cannot do, especially when she's already been forced to do so much. But what can Three do? She's stuck; her limbs aren't listening to her at all.

So she waits - she waits painfully for seconds, and soon minutes, for herself to melt, for her to regain control over her body again, and hopes that Agent 8 is fine to wait with her for a little longer. And when she eventually can move again, Three is quick to learn that Eight has fallen asleep in her arms. Feelings of regret wash over her immediately, but she’s able to push them down to deal with the current issue at hand.

In as gentle of a manner as she can possibly attain, Agent 3 slowly lowers Agent 8’s unconscious body down on the bed beside her. She gingerly tucks the blanket in around Eight, making sure to not brush the enormous wound on her back (which Agent 3 only just learned of two days ago during training), and leans back to admire her. The octoling is facing towards her, with a such a relaxed expression on her face that Three would think she’s not actually asleep and just faking it. Her soft snores say otherwise.

The inkling then tucks herself in, before finding Eight’s hands and enclasping them with her own bandaged ones.

“I hope I spend the rest of my good times with you.”

Agent 3 falls asleep to the sound of Agent 8’s breathing, and the thought of their future good times ahead.

**Author's Note:**

> when will i write something other than angst-y hurt/comfort fics lmfao
> 
> again, thank you for reading!! i really do enjoy looking at the comments you guys leave  
> they always make me laugh and smile :))


End file.
